Into the Dark
by Cobalt Dreams
Summary: Lucian, a young physician in Los Angeles, is living an ordinary if not somewhat hectic life. Even though he's a workaholic, a bit grumpy, and has an annoying family, he thinks he's a pretty normal guy. Then he meets Nikolai, the most mysterious and secretive person Lucian has ever known. Lucian has no idea that he is about to be pulled into a world he never knew existed.


**Author's Note: So I've been working on this story for nearly a year now, and although I'm still not really satisfied with it, I decided that if I don't post it now, I probably never will. The beginning in particular is sort of bumpy (I've never really been good with beginnings).**

 **This is also different from my usual stories, and probably from the majority of Greek Mythology fanfiction in general. The gods have no idea who they actually are...at least not yet...and there are also several OCs. You may or may not be able to figure out who each character is, but that's the way I wanted it. There will also be more angst than fluff, although it will eventually be slash.**

 **I do not speak French (although I'm attempting to learn) so if anything is wrong, I apologize.**

 **The title was inspired by Death Cab for Cutie's _I Will Follow You Into the Dark._**

* * *

 _Into the Dark_

* * *

The streets of Los Angeles were as busy as ever. The unforgiving sun was bright in the cloudless sky, relentless in its mission to scorch everything and everyone in the city beneath it.

Dr. Lucian Lambrinos loved this city. He loved how it never seemed to sleep, loved the diversity of its citizens, loved the mountains that towered far above. Though he was a native of France, Lucian wouldn't choose to live anywhere else.

Currently he was rushing down the sidewalks of South Westwood Boulevard, cursing under his breath. He dodged past a young couple leaving Chick-fil-A—no doubt they were students from the University—and very nearly tripped over the sleeve of the lab coat slung over his arm.

He was running late again; it was the second time this week. His car didn't start when he put the key in the ignition this morning, and he had been forced to call a tow truck. He often wished he had his older brother's ingenuity when it came to fixing mechanical things. Alas, Lucian had been gifted with the ability to fix people instead. While he did love his job as a physician, he sometimes thought that being a mechanic would save him a great deal of money, since every vehicle he had ever owned seemed to break down at least once a month.

Lucian slung his lab coat over his shoulder and sprinted across Le Conte Avenue, not bothering to wait for the light to change. He had no time to spare. Westwood Boulevard changed to Westwood Plaza, and though he was closer to his destination than he had been, the hospital still seemed impossibly far away. He skidded to halt by a nearby doctor's office to try and catch his breath.

The nurses were going to kill him.

"Hey, Doc!" he heard a voice call out.

Lucian turned around, giving the man who had spoken a blank look. It took him several seconds to recognize him as a technician from the hospital.

"You need a ride?" the technician—Joe, Lucian thought his name might be—continued cheerfully.

"Yes," Lucian said fervently. He never thought he'd be so grateful to see someone whose name he wasn't even sure he knew.

"Well, hop in."

Lucian didn't need to be asked twice. He dashed around to the passenger's side of the car, pulling open the door and sliding inside. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke.

"You look terrible," Joe declared as he pulled the car away from the curb and sped off in the direction of the hospital.

"I don't doubt it," Lucian muttered, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "My car's in the shop again. I walked most of the way here."

"Walked?" Joe laughed. "When I saw you a minute ago, you looked like you were trying to win a marathon."

Lucian gave a long-suffering sigh and glanced down sadly. His clothes, which had been freshly cleaned and pressed before he left his house, now looked as though he'd been wearing them for a week straight. His tie was askew and his shirt, not only damp with sweat, was also hopelessly wrinkled. He absently tried to smooth it out.

"Here we are," Joe announced, pulling off the road in front of the hospital's main entrance. "You go on in, Doc. I'm gonna park the car."

"Thanks, Joe," Lucian said quickly, not bothering to wait for a response from his unlikely rescuer. He jumped out of the car and sped off towards the glass doors, once again dodging through the crowds of people that came and went from UCLA Medical Center every day. He struggled into his lab coat as he went.

"Hey, Dr. Lambrinos!" a voice from behind the information desk greeted him, but he didn't have time to stop and exchange pleasantries. His watch had informed him that he was now twenty minutes late. That was a new record for him.

He came to a halt in front of a pair of elevator doors and pounded the 'up' button with his fist even though it was already lit. There were a number of people already waiting; out of the corner of his eye, he saw two women staring at him. Whether it was dismay at his rumpled appearance or appreciation of his good looks, he didn't know. He didn't care.

He impatiently fiddled with the laminated ID clipped to his coat and glared at the elevator doors as though he could make the lift get there faster.

His hands dropped into the coat's deep pockets and he instantly groaned. He'd forgotten his stethoscope again. He hated using the hospital-issued ones.

The doors finally open, and Lucian was the first to dart inside. He instantly hit the button for the fourth floor, where the MICU, or Medical Intensive Care Unit, was located, and tapped his foot while the rest of the group filed in.

His was the first stop, and he slipped between the two women who had been staring at him to exit the elevator. It was a short walk to the east entrance of the MICU, but he was blocked by locked double doors. He pressed the intercom button. "It's me," he said, and even to his own ears, he sounded irate.

There was a short pause. Then he heard a tsk-ing noise. "You're late _again_ ," a familiar voice said, and the doors unlocked.

Lucian marched in without bothering to answer.

The East Nurse's Station was just inside the entrance, and he slipped behind the counter. One of the nurses, Anastasia, was on the phone, but she pulled the receiver away from her ear when she caught sight of him. "You're in trouble," she said amusedly.

He scowled at her. "I'm aware of that, thank-you-very-much."

He swept past her before she could say another word and made his way to the charting room, which was located at the very back of the station. Normally, the entire team of doctors would meet here at the start of the shift to review their caseloads together. Today, he would be doing it alone.

With just a few clicks and strokes on the keyboard, he was able to access the information of all of his patients, both new and old, and the results of recently-performed tests that had been ordered by the resident on duty. This young doctor, whose name was Jack, worked long shifts and as a result, often looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in about a year. He was in the third year of his residency—just experienced enough that Lucian was able to give him the ability to order tests and make his own diagnoses. He also had the responsibility of training a group of interns.

Lucian was forever grateful to have such a talented resident under his wing. Jack came in handy in emergency situations—such as when the attending physician (Lucian) was nearly a half hour late.

Lucian was quick to print out the list of patients that he needed to visit, grabbing the sheets of paper as soon as they cleared the printer and shoving them onto a clipboard. He dug a pen out of his breast pocket and began scrawling on the paper, using a code that few others would be able to read. He had developed it himself. It was a system that organized his patients by order of importance, from the ones that were still in critical condition to those that had been stabilized and would be ready for discharge soon. He further complicated the list by adding symbols that told him if he still had a task to be completed with certain patients.

As soon as he finished, he removed the papers from the clipboard and stuffed them in one of his deep pockets. It was just one of many things that would soon be overflowing from those pockets.

"You know, it's not a good thing when the attending physician isn't in attendance," a voice said from behind him, and Lucian swung around in the swivel chair to come face-to-face with his twin sister, Kari.

Her brown hair was done up in a practical bun, all the better to keep it out of the way when she was leaning over patients. Her scrubs were clean and unwrinkled, and her arms were crossed over her slender chest. Her expression was a cross between amusement and disapproval.

"I _know_ ," Lucian groaned, climbing to his feet. Although he was 6'2", Kari was nearly as tall as he was. He watched as her eyes flitted over his face and then down to his rumpled clothes. Her disapproval grew deeper.

"You look horrible," she said, shaking her head as she stepped forward to straighten his tie. "What happened to your hair?"

He reached up to touch his hair and was horrified to realize that it was loose. Because it was nearly waist-long, his hair was normally done in a braid to keep it out of his way as he worked. It was very controversial for a male doctor to have such long hair, as it didn't exactly fit the image most people expected doctors to have, but Lucian didn't care.

"I forgot to braid it," he said with an even bigger groan. "This morning was hectic."

"Well, you don't have time now," she said, handing him a hair tie. "Just pull it back."

He obeyed, gathering his hair up into what he was sure was an extremely sloppy ponytail.

"You're MAO today, you know," she said, handing him a pager. "You already missed one call. Brian had to handle it."

MAO meant "medical admitting officer", and if Dr. Brian Hoffing, who was the other attending physician on shift in the MICU this afternoon, had been forced to head down to the emergency department to admit a patient, it meant that the MICU had been without an attending physician for a length of time.

"I'm sorry," Lucian sighed, attaching the pager to his belt. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

Kari grinned. "It's okay. It's actually nice to see you so out of sorts. You're normally so _perfect_ ," she said, wrinkling her nose. Then she added, "You do look really unprofessional, though."

"That's just lovely," he muttered as he clipped his personal pager next to the MAO one and headed out the door.

He could already tell it was going to be another long day.

* * *

Lucian collapsed into his favorite armchair before heaving a sigh. The back of his neck ached; he massaged it absently, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. He loved the feeling of coming home after a long day of work. He contemplated getting into the pool but decided against it; he was too tired to swim. Perhaps he would lounge in the hot tub instead.

Intent on pouring himself a drink before changing out of his work clothes, Lucian made his way to the bar. He had only just picked up the bottle of vodka when an ear-splitting noise almost caused him to drop it. It took him a moment to realize that it was the peal of the doorbell. He fiddled with the bottle as he began a mental list of the pros and cons of ignoring it.

The buzz of the intercom didn't give him a chance to get very far. _"Lucian!"_ an obnoxious voice shouted. _"Stop ignoring us! We know you're home!"_

Lucian knew that voice. With a scowl on his face, he stormed over to the intercom panel and jabbed his finger against the button. "Why don't you do mankind a favor and drown yourself in the ocean, Hilaire?" he snapped.

" _Why don't you do me a favor and let us in, Mr. Tempermental?"_

 _"'_ _Us'?"_ Lucian repeated incredulously. "Who else did you bring?!"

 _"_ _Unlock the gate and you'll find out,"_ came the teasing reply.

"Look, I worked all day and I'm tired, so if you're thinking about throwing a party or something ridiucloulous—"

 _"_ Relax _, Luc. It's just family,"_ Hilaire said impatiently.

"Like that makes a difference," Lucian muttered to himself before reluctantly pushing the button to let in his brother and the rest of the mob.

Nearly ten minutes passed before Lucian heard the sound of footsteps outside the room. Seconds later, Hilaire was bounding through the door. "Thought we'd find you in here," he said cheerfully, glancing around the library that was Lucian's favorite room in the house.

The space was paneled with Birdseye maple and contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were packed with everything from medical textbooks to Lucian's favorite novels. Comfortable red armchairs were arranged in front of a large fireplace, and off to the side was a fully-stocked bar.

Lucian looked up wearily, coming face-to-face with three of his four brothers.

" _I_ thought we'd never find him," the eldest of the four was grumbling. "Why do you need a house this huge, anyway? It's practically a bloody mansion." His name was Gervais, and he always had something to complain about.

"Why do _you_ insist on talking when no one wants to hear your voice?" Lucian asked testily.

"He needs room for his huge family!" Hilaire chirped, not giving his two brothers a chance to start an argument. It was no coincidence that his name meant "cheerful".

Lucian rolled his eyes, already feeling more exhausted than he had been before his family had arrived. "Right. That's _exactly_ why I bought this house. It's my secret wish to have every single one of my siblings move in here with me."

Diodore, the youngest brother, spoke up for the first time. "This place _is_ kind of big for you, Luc. What do you need eight bedrooms for?"

"It's _three stories_ ," Gervais emphasized. "You only need _one_ roof over your head. Not _three._ "

"Is that the only reason you stopped by?" Lucian snapped at his brothers. "Just to insult me? Do you have nothing better to do?"

"Not really," Diodore said lazily. "And we were hoping you'd feed us dinner."

Lucian crossed his legs, settling further back into his chair. "I think there's some Chinese food in the fridge from four weeks ago that I forgot to throw out. Help yourselves," he said sweetly.

"As much fun as food poisoning sounds, I think we'll pass," Hilaire said, looking slightly sick at the thought.

"Hey, where's the wine cellar?" Diodore asked languidly, leaning his hip against a nearby chair.

"It's off the kitchen," Lucian muttered. "And no, you may not have any. You're only sixteen, remember?"

"But _Luc…_ " Diodore whined, pouting prettily. With his lovely chestnut hair flowing about his face, the faint blush on his cheeks, and thick-lashed almond-shaped eyes, he had yet to lose the youthful beauty of his childhood. Sometimes Lucian wondered if he ever would. "Stop looking at me like that," the doctor sighed. "I'm your brother, not some idiotic girl head-over-heels in love with you."

Dark eyes, perpetually lost in a daydream known only to him, rolled towards the ceiling.

Gervais, who had just recently been released from his most recent incarceration in San Quintin, was inspecting the bar. Lucian eyed the back of his head warily; he didn't trust his brother to not pocket his most expensive bottle of scotch on the sly.

Gervais was the black sheep of their considerably large family. Constantly on the outs with their parents, he had spent the majority of his twenty-seven years doing everything possible to upset them. He'd gotten a tattoo when he was fourteen, a spiral eyebrow piercing when he was fifteen, and snakebite piercings below his lower lip when he was sixteen. He dropped out of high school. The first time he'd been thrown in prison had been at the tender age of eighteen.

"Keep your hands off my alcohol, Gervais," Lucian warned. Gervais turned around and shot him a smirk. His black eyes always seemed to sparkle with malice.

"You think I'd sink low enough to steal from my little brother?"

"I think you'd sink low enough to do anything if you thought there was a dime in it for you," Lucian said darkly. "Especially considering you and your buddies thought it was a good idea to try and rob a bank."

Gervais ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and grinned. "I guess I can't deny that."

"Alright, alright," Hilaire said impatiently. "This conversation is getting too depressing. We should play a game!"

"How about Drunken Artist?" Diodore piped up.

"Not a drinking game," Hilaire clarified hastily. "What about regular Pictionary?"

"Sounds good," Diodore agreed lazily.

"You couldn't come up with something more exciting?" Gervais muttered, eyeing his two youngest brothers disdainfully.

"I'm sorry it's not as fun as robbing banks," Hilaire said snidely. "Are you playing or not?"

Gervais gave a long-suffering sigh. "I guess."

Grateful that Hilaire hadn't bothered to try and rope him into joining the game, Lucian leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The incessant chattering of his brothers faded into low murmurs as exhaustion finally overtook him.

* * *

Lucian wasn't entirely sure what prompted him to visit his least-favorite uncle, but the next thing he knew, he was sweeping through the entryway into one of Los Angeles's most prestigious jewelry stores. It was still early in the day and the front room was empty, but when the bell above the door chimed, a tall, imposing figure swept out of the back office. Dressed in an immaculate black suit with equally black hair sweeping down his back, Etienne Lambrinos was a striking man.

When the jeweler's dark eyes came to a rest on his nephew, his expression morphed into something that almost looked distasteful. Lucian knew better than to be offended. _"Bonjour,_ Uncle," he greeted.

Etienne didn't bother with any formalities. He rarely did. "What are you doing here?"

Lucian offered him a small smile. "Isn't it possible that I merely want to spend some time with you?"

 _"_ _Bien sûr que non,"_ his uncle snapped. "Don't be stupid. You've come to whine about your adolescent problems, haven't you?"

At this, Lucian's smile turned wry. "Even if I _wanted_ to whine, you are the _last_ person I would go to."

"Then what do you want?"

Lucian shrugged as he moved over to a case of glimmering diamond rings. "I was bored," he muttered, peering inside.

"Well, I refuse to be a source of entertainment for you," Etienne said, and even though Lucian wasn't facing him, the doctor could practically hear the sneer in his uncle's voice. "Unless you're going to buy something, feel free to leave."

Lucian was strongly reminded of the way he himself had reacted the previous night when his brothers had visited him. He turned to stare at Etienne with a curious expression on his face. "Why do you think the people in our family hate each other so much?"

Etienne stared right back at him. "What sort of asinine question is that?"

A scowl made its way onto Lucian's face, but before he could shoot back a snarky reply, the chime of the doorbell once again rang throughout the store. Uncle and nephew both turned to face the newcomer.

The young man couldn't have been more than twenty years of age. He was tall, standing even higher than Etienne, and, to Lucian's trained eye, much too thin to be considered healthy. He had a headful of unruly brown hair that fell over his ears in waves and eyes that immediately caught Lucian's attention. His irises were the same lustrous color from pupil to sclera, balancing on the thin line that separated dark brown from black. Suddenly, Lucian was flooded with thoughts of fragrant, warm black coffee.

"Can I help you?" Etienne asked while Lucian was still busy analyzing the customer.

"Hopefully," the man replied, and his voice was as dark and mysterious as his eyes. "I was wondering if you could fix this."

He held up his hand, showing Etienne a broken rosary wrapped around his long fingers.

"Do you have all of the beads?" Etienne was asking, and the customer nodded, digging in his pocket with his other hand. A second later, he presented the jeweler with a small plastic bag.

Etienne took it. "I can certainly fix this. Your name, please?"

"Nikolai," the man responded. "Nikolai Astyafyev."

"Nikolai," Etienne repeated. "Alright, then. Be back here in an hour." And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked away. Lucian often wondered how he managed to stay in business when he treated his customers so dismissively.

"Oh, _c'est très sympa de ta part,"_ Lucian called after him sarcastically before turning back to the man— _Nikolai._

He hadn't expected to see a look of amusement on Nikolai's face…it was almost as though the younger man had actually understood the rapid French. Lucian decided not to press the subject just yet. "You have an interesting name," he said instead.

The amusement that had so briefly crossed his face quickly morphed into an expression that was nothing short of contemptuous. " 'Nikolai' " is just about as common as it gets in Russia," he said with a roll of his eyes, "and that's pretty common."

Lucian was startled by his sudden mood change. "I didn't mean to—" he began to apologize, but was cut off.

"Look, I don't want to be rude, but I have a lot to do today." He began to move towards the door, and for the first time, Lucian noticed that he looked exhausted. There were dark circles around his eyes.

"Wait!" Lucian called after him, not willing to let the young man out of his sight yet. His instincts as a doctor had kicked in, and he wondered if Nikolai was ill.

Nikolai paused, one hand pressed against the glass door, and turned his head slightly so that his blank expression was visible.

"Are you—I mean—are you okay?" he asked, fumbling with the words. "Are you sick?"

It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Nikolai's head snapped all the way around and his lips became a thin line.

"If I was, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Well, I'm a doctor—"

"You aren't _my_ doctor," Nikolai snapped, "and you wouldn't be even if I had one. I wouldn't let someone like _you_ touch me."

The hostility was astonishing. Lucian forced himself to stay composed; he had dealt with many difficult patients over the years, and he could certainly deal with this. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It wasn't my intention to offend you."

The eyes that had seemed so warm mere minutes ago were now eyeing him warily. "Don't make assumptions about me."

"Well, let's start over," Lucian suggested. "Tell me something about yourself so I don't have to assume. What do you do for a living?"

"High school," was the short answer.

Lucian was surprised. "You're that young? You look older."

"I just turned eighteen," Nikolai muttered. "Look, I need to go. My girlfriend's waiting for me outside."

And before Lucian could say anything else, the strange young man slipped through the doorway. Lucian watched him go with a curious, slightly troubled expression. He couldn't help but wonder what would become of the mysterious teenager.

A few minutes later, his pager went off, and all thought of Nikolai Astyafyev were driven far from his mind.

* * *

"You should come to a concert with me tonight," Hilaire declared as he bounced into Lucian's backyard, where said man was sprawled across a lounge chair that overlooked his pool and the mountains beyond.

Lucian opened one eye to look at his newly-arrived brother. Hilaire was now standing in front of him, his black hair sticking up in every which direction and his green eyes sparkling excitedly. "I don't even want to know how you managed to get past the gate," he muttered. Sometimes Hilaire seemed to defy the laws of what should be physically impossible. "And no, I'm not going to any concert. I have to work tomorrow morning."

"You _always_ have to work," Hilaire whined as he fell into a lounge chair in a very dramatic manner. "You _never_ spend time with me anymore!"

"I'm spending time with you right now," Lucian pointed out.

"Only because I broke into your house."

Lucian scowled. "Hilaire, you have four other brothers. Go with one of them. Or maybe with one of your dozens of girlfriends."

"I do _not_ have dozens of girlfriends!" Hilaire squawked indignantly.

Lucian rolled his eyes heavenward, knowing that was a lie. His handsome younger brother, with his catlike green eyes, unruly hair, and chiseled features, seemed to attract every girl he ever came across. "Of course you don't, _mon cher frère,"_ he mumbled before taking a sip from his glass of lemonade.

Hilaire still looked slightly miffed, but let it go. "You'll at least come to my birthday party this weekend, right?"

Lucian nearly spat out his lemonade, but managed to swallow before he began to snort with laughter. " _Birthday party?!_ Is it going to be at _Chuck E. Cheese?_ "

The affronted expression was back. "Lots of older people have birthday parties! Just because you're so uptight and don't know how to have fun—"

"You're going to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, right?" Lucian cut across him, still chuckling.

"People are _supposed_ to celebrate birthdays," Hilaire said crossly. "You're just a really sad person. You know what? I don't even _want_ you at my party anymore. You'd probably depress everyone, anyway."

"Aw, Hilaire, don't be mad at me," Lucian teased. _"Tu sais je t'aime."_

"Yeah, well, _je ne t'aime pas,_ " he grumbled, climbing to his feet. "You're a jerk."

Lucian fiddled with his braid, smiling sweetly at Hilaire. "And yet I'm still your favorite brother."

Hilaire seized a towel from a nearby table and snapped it at Lucian, earning a yelp from the blond. "I might change my mind about that. You're too cocky. Maybe I'll make Diodore my favorite."

Lucian made a face. "He'll drive you to drink in no time at all."

"Yeah, well, life's too short to not have a little fun," Hilaire said airily, dropping the towel onto Lucian's lap before striding towards the back door. "I'll see you later, _non_?"

Lucian gave a noncommittal grunt and crossed his arms behind his head, once again looking out at the mountains. A few minutes after he heard the back door slam shut, he drifted off into a light sleep.

* * *

"Wake up, you lazy brat," a sharp voice commanded. "I'll not stand here all night!"

Lucian's eyes snapped open, and his first thought was, _why is it so bright?_ Then he noticed that the floodlights in his backyard were lit, illuminating the area with light that may or may not be brighter than the sun. He groaned. "Is it night already?"

"It is," the voice snapped, and Lucian looked up into the scowling face of his Uncle Etienne. "You actually fell _asleep_ out here? Foolish child. I hope you're sunburnt."

The sore, stinging feeling on Lucian's face and arms told him that he had, indeed, burned. He groaned louder. "What are you doing here? And how is everyone getting past my gate?"

"I'm here because _Nikolai,_ your little _friend—_ the one who was in my shop earlier—never came back to pick up his beads," Etienne said. The artificial light made his face ghostly pale, which caused him to appear even more vicious than usual.

At first, Lucian, whose mind was still hazy from sleep, had no idea what his uncle was talking about. Then the name registered in his brain. "Nikolai? He never came back?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it? For someone who graduated high school at fourteen, you need an awful lot of things repeated for you."

Lucian was used to his uncle's disparaging attitude and easily waved it off. "He's not my friend. I've known him just as long as you have—which is to say, not long at all."

"Well, you certainly seemed cozy with each other this morning," Etienne said with a sneer. "I was surprised you didn't hug before he left."

Lucian lifted his eyes towards the night sky and heaved a sigh. "Goes to show what you know about human relations. _I_ was surprised he didn't punch me before he left."

"Whatever," Etienne drawled as he pulled something out of his pocket. A second later, the now fully-intact rosary was dangling from his slender fingers, glinting in the light as he held it up.

Lucian was taken by surprise when his uncle suddenly tossed the beads at him; he barely caught the string on the tip of his fingers.

"You can return it to him," his uncle said smoothly. "I require no payment. It was an easy fix."

"And how do you suppose I should do that?" Lucian demanded. "I don't know anything about him except his name."

"Once again, I'm left with no choice but to doubt your intelligence," Etienne deadpanned. "Have you ever heard of this wonderful thing called Google? Search his name. How many Nikolai Astyafyevs can there possibly be in Los Angeles?"

He had a point, Lucian decided. Without bothering to respond to his uncle's barbs, he climbed out of the lounge chair and strode towards the backdoor, intent on tracking down his personal laptop.

"Well, _á plus_ to you, too!" Etienne shouted after him scornfully.

* * *

The search for a man named Nikolai Astyafyev proved to be fruitless. Google didn't yield so much as a Facebook page, and as a result, Lucian headed off to work that morning in a surly mood.

His sister greeted him cheerfully when he passed her on the way to the charting room. He mumbled a reply and made to slip past her, but she grabbed his arm and brought him to an abrupt halt. "I've already printed out your chart for you since you're late… _again._ "

Despite her admonishing tone, her eyes twinkled at him. He shot her a look that was part grateful and part exasperated. " _Merci_. I don't know what I'd do without you," he said, accepting the clipboard that she offered him.

"Yes, you do. And your first patient is in room 402," she added. "He was admitted late last night."

Mumbling another word of thanks, Lucian rushed in that direction, patting his hair to make sure it was presentable. Nothing puts off patient quite like a disheveled, sloppy doctor.

The door to 402 was open. Lucian tapped on the wood gently before stepping in. He was slightly surprised to see that there were already two doctors and a nurse present. He recognized his resident, Jack, and the nurse, Anastasia; the other doctor was a stranger.

At the sound of the knock, Jack turned around. "Dr. Lambrinos," he greeted, and Lucian instantly took note of the wariness in his voice. The resident looked exhausted.

"Dr. Fielding," Lucian responded before flicking his eyes to the patient on the bed. The second he did so, his jaw dropped.

It was Nikolai Astyafyev. Even though the young man was asleep, Lucian would have recognized him anywhere.

"It's him!" Lucian hissed, momentarily forgetting his professional status. _"I don't believe it!"_

Jack was shooting him a look of confusion, and Anastasia paused in the midst of adjusting the patient's blood pressure cuff to raise an eyebrow at him. Even the stranger looked baffled.

"Er…who?"

"Nevermind," Lucian said hastily, shuffling through the papers on his clipboard in an attempt to find Nikolai's chart.

"He came in as a presumed drug overdose," Jack told him quietly. "He's been stabilized but they wanted him kept under observation."

As Jack continued to debrief him, Lucian's thoughts strayed far away from diagnostic tests, hospitals, and doctors. His eyes were pinned to the slender form on the bed. What were the odds that in a city the size of Los Angeles, Nikolai would wind up admitted to the same hospital in which Lucian worked…and only a day after they'd first met? Unconsciously, Lucian frowned.

All of a sudden, Nikolai's eyelids began to flutter. He let out a small moan, and slowly, as though it caused him great pain, opened his eyes.

The other doctor—who had yet to introduce himself or even look at anyone else in the room—instantly leapt forward. "Kolya!"

Rolling his head to the side, Nikolai stared drowsily at the man who had spoken. "Mish?" he murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"Mish" smiled, and for the first time, Lucian noticed how exhausted he looked. Despite that, he was a very handsome man, probably in his mid-twenties, with dark eyes that were almost too large for his thin face. His features seemed almost delicate, but the unshaven stubble on his jaw and upper lip kept him from being effeminate. "I work here, you fool," he was saying. "You're in the hospital."

Nikolai seemed surprised. "I am?" he asked, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

Mish nodded, and with dazed eyes, Nikolai gazed around at his dull, sterile surroundings. For a moment, no one spoke. The only noise was the incessant beeping of the many machines that were monitoring Nikolai's life. Then, perhaps inevitably, his eyes settled on Lucian. "Oh, God…not _him!"_

Lucian raised an eyebrow as Mish turned to stare at him confusedly. "Who are you talking about?"

Jack and Anastasia looked just as baffled.

"I'm talking about that blond idiot standing over there," Nikolai muttered, and it might have been more insulting if his voice wasn't still so slurred.

All eyes turned to Lucian, who explained by saying, "We've met before. And Jack, I think I have this under control. Thanks for getting me up to speed."

Jack looked very much like he wanted to stay but mumbled "You're welcome" before sweeping out of the room; Anastasia followed shortly behind.

Their departure was followed by an awkward pause. "Um…I think introductions are in order," Lucian finally said, offering his hand to Mish. "I'm Dr. Lucian Lambrinos."

After a short pause, Mish accepted his hand. "I'm Dr. Mikhail Parokiski," he said quietly.

Lucian wondered where the odd nickname "Mish" had come from but kept the question to himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Parokiski," he said with a slight smile. "What floor do you work on?"

"I work in the emergency department. I'm a resident. And I'm sorry about Kolya's attitude," he added, shooting a dark look at said person. "When did you meet him?"

"It was yesterday, actually," Lucian said lightly. "He stopped by my uncle's jewelry shop. Which reminds me…"

He dug a hand into one of the pockets of his lab coat until he felt his fingers brush against cold beads. When he finally retrieved the rosary, he tossed it into Nikolai's lap. The beautiful necklace—made of sterling silver and what Lucian suspected were rubies—stood out sharply against the bland hospital blanket.

Slowly, Nikolai picked it up. Brushing his fingers over the cross, he mumbled, "Thank you. Uh…do I owe you anything?"

Lucian gave a short laugh and shook his head. "No. Etienne made it very clear that it was extremely easy to fix."

Nikolai said nothing to that, and once again, silence reigned. After several quiet minutes, Lucian turned back to Dr. Parokiski. "Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with Nikolai? I'd like to speak with him about the results of his tests." He tapped a finger against his clipboard.

"Of course," the other doctor said in his soft voice and turned around to leave. When the door shut behind him with a quiet _click,_ Lucian settled himself in the chair beside Nikolai's bed and faced his patient with an unreadable expression. Nikolai stared back, his expression just as dispassionate.

Finally, Lucian spoke. "I think there's something you've neglected to tell Dr. Fielding and me," he said quietly. Nikolai didn't speak, so he went on. "I was looking at the results of your blood tests…"

"How exciting," Nikolai said dryly.

Lucian looked up from where he'd been gazing down at his clasped hands and met the young man's eyes. "Did you know that you have leukemia?" he asked softly.

Nikolai stared down at his blanket, and at first Lucian didn't think he was going to answer. Then…

"Why are you asking me that when you already know the answer?" he muttered.

"You told me that you didn't have a doctor."

"That's because I _don't,_ " he snapped, jerking his head up. Once again, his eyes were sparkling with rage. "I refused treatment. If I'm going to die, it's not going to be in a hospital bed with tubes stuck in every orifice. I'm not going to be bald and fifty pounds lighter because I can't stop throwing my guts up. I just—I can't go through that." His voice broke off, and Lucian thought he saw unshed tears brimming in his eyes. "It's hopeless anyway. I'm going to die one way or the other."

"Yes, but without treatment, you'll be dead within months," Lucian said calmly. "With it, you could survive years. You're young. Your body would handle treatment well. This is assuming that the cancer hasn't already spread. And of course there is always the chance of remission."

Nikolai gritted his teeth and shook his head. His hand was clenched so tightly around his rosary that his knuckles were stark white. "I don't want to fight it."

"Does Dr. Parokiski know?"

"You can call him Misha," Nikolai muttered. "And yes, he does."

"Why Misha, if his name is Mikhail?" Lucian couldn't resist asking this time.

Nikolai shrugged a shoulder. "It's a Russian nickname. Mine's Kolya."

The doctor leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "So he's Russian too?"

Nikolai sighed, as though talking to Lucian caused him great pain, but answered anyway. "His dad was Russian but he was born in the Czech Republic. Judging by the name, the accent, and the ridiculous hair, I'm assuming you're French."

" _Oui_ ," Lucian agreed, his lips curving into a small smile, "but my parents are Greek. And just so you know, I have four brothers and none of them have hair anything like mine. That's a me thing, not a French thing."

Before Nikolai could shoot back a witty retort, the door opened with a loud _bang!_ Lucian startled, taken completely by surprise. Nikolai merely looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.

The newcomer was a short man with a mop of blond hair and a bounce in his step. "Kol! Guess what?!—oh." He paused when he realized there was a third person in the room, and hazel eyes framed with dark eyeliner stared at Lucian quizzically. "Who's this?"

Nikolai rolled his eyes dramatically. "Geez, Vit, I don't know. He's wearing a lab coat, a suit, and there's a stethoscope around his neck…who could he possibly be? It's definitely a mystery."

The blond man scowled. "You don't have to be mean about it. You're his doctor, then?" he added to Lucian, who nodded and stood up, holding out his hand. "Dr. Lucian Lambrinos."

"I'm Vitaly Astyafyev, but you can call me Vitya. Kol is my brother," he said with a grin before bounding over to the bed. _"Tebe uzhe luchshe, bratik?"_

"I'm fine," Nikolai responded with yet another eye roll. "Go wash that crap off your face. You look like an idiot."

"I think I look pretty!" Vitya said, faking an offended expression. Lucian was strongly reminded of Hilaire.

"Sure. You're the prettiest drag queen I've ever seen."

"Is it okay to come back in?" someone interrupted, and Lucian turned around to see Dr. Parokiski's dark eyes peering into the room.

"Yes," Lucian murmured, climbing to his feet. "I need to leave anyway. Other patients to see and stuff. Jack looks like he's ready to keel over; don't think he'll last much longer today…"

"You really love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" Nikolai drawled with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

Lucian shot a scowl over his shoulder as he left the room and allowed the door to slam behind him.

* * *

 _"_ _Ugh,_ what a long day," Lucian groaned, slumping into a chair in the hospital cafeteria.

Jack, who was resting his head on the table, merely grunted.

"Maybe if the two of you weren't such workaholics and actually worked normal hours…" Kari mumbled as she stirred her yogurt with a spoon.

"I'm not a workaholic," Lucian protested weakly, prodding at his sandwich without much interest.

"You're right," Kari conceded with a smirk. "If you were, you wouldn't have been late to work _every day this week_. And stop playing with your food. Eat it."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I don't care," Kari snapped. "You're too skinny. Isn't he, Jack?"

Jack yawned and picked himself up off the table. "I don't know. Maybe a little."

"Just because you're five minutes older than me doesn't give you the right to act like my mother," Lucian said to his sister.

"I'm not acting like your mother. I'm acting like a concerned sister."

"Cut it out, both of you," Jack said tiredly. "Lucian, eat your sandwich. Doctor's orders."

Lucian rolled his eyes but took a bite of his sandwich anyway, ignoring Kari's victorious smile.

He'd barely swallowed the first bite when the now-familiar figure of Dr. Parokiski wandered up to their table. "Dr. Lambrinos, Dr. Fielding," he mumbled through a yawn, sliding into a vacant chair.

 _"_ _Bonjour."_ Lucian returned the greeting cordially enough, though one of his golden eyebrows was raised. The young resident looked mere moments away from keeling over from exhaustion.

Apparently Kari was thinking along the same lines, because she bluntly said, "I've seen cadavers that looked healthier than you."

Dr. Parokiski's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Thanks."

"What are you still doing here?" Lucian asked after swallowing a reluctant bite of sandwich. "Your shift must have ended hours ago. You should go home and sleep…preferably for a long time."

"While I appreciate the free medical advice," Dr. Parokiski began dryly, "I actually came to thank you. I know Kolya isn't the easiest person to deal with."

Lucian shrugged a shoulder and set down his sandwich, ignoring the glare his sister gave him. "You don't need to thank me. It's my job. I have to deal with difficult people all the time whether I like it or not."

"Hippocrates would be proud of you," Kari said with a smirk, and Jack laughed.

Lucian shot her a bemused look and stood up. "As much fun as this day has been, I'm ready to go home. See everyone tomorrow?"

He got affirmative nods from Jack and his twin, but Dr. Parokiski stood up with him. "I'm leaving too," was his short explanation, so together, they set off towards the nearest exit.

They'd almost reached Lucian's rented car by the time the dark-haired man spoke up. "How do you know Kolya?"

Lucian gave him a sidelong glance. "I met him at my uncle's jewelry store. He came in to have his rosary beads fixed."

"Oh," Dr. Parokiski mumbled. "He didn't seem happy to see you."

"I might have been a little overbearing the first time we met," Lucian admitted. They were now standing next to his car, and he was digging in his pockets for the keys. "Please tell me I didn't leave them in the hospital," he groaned under his breath.

Dr. Parokiski didn't seem to notice his colleague's problem. His eyes were downcast when he quietly said, "I'm guessing you saw his bloodwork."

Lucian paused his search to offer the other doctor a long look. "If that's your roundabout way of asking me if I know he has leukemia, the answer is yes."

"I don't know what to do," Dr. Parokiski blurted, dragging his hands through his hair. "If he doesn't get treatment…"

He didn't have to finish the sentence. They both knew what would happen. Opting not to comment on the unfinished statement, Lucian instead asked, "Is this the first time he's tried to commit suicide?"

Dr. Parokiski didn't answer. His tired eyes were focused on a point somewhere above Lucian's shoulder. After a long moment, he shook his head.

 _"_ _Mon dieu,"_ Lucian murmured.

 _"_ _Je sais,"_ Dr. Parokiski sighed. "It's always the same. He'll be institutionalized for as long as they can keep him there—three days, I think it is—or until some stupid psychologist decides he's not a threat to himself. Then the cycle starts all over again."

Lucian bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he finally said after an uncomfortable silence. "I didn't know the situation was that bad."

Dr. Parokiski gave him a weak smile. "How could you have? You barely know us."

"If there's anything I can do to help…"

The brunette hesitated, and then shook his head. "I can't ask you to get involved in this."

In spite of himself, Lucian smiled. "If I didn't want to get involved in things like this, I wouldn't have become a physician. Besides, I feel like I'm already involved."

"Well, in that case, would you like to get together for coffee tomorrow? Maybe together we can come up with a plan to convince Kolya to get treatment," he said wryly.

"Sounds good," Lucian agreed, going back to patting his pockets. "Just let me know when."

Dr. Parokiski nodded and turned away, but then stopped short. "I almost forgot," he said, digging a hand into his pocket. A second later he was tossing a set of keys at Lucian. "You left them on the table in the cafeteria," he said with a sly wink before striding away with his hands in his pockets.

* * *

So distracted was Lucian by thoughts of what had happened that day, he almost forgot that he was supposed to pick up Hilaire and Diodore from school. He was twenty minutes late by the time he arrived, and his brothers were sitting on the steps looking impatient (Hilaire) and bored (Diodore). They both stood when he pulled up to the curb and Hilaire immediately bounded towards the passenger door. Diodore followed at a much more subdued pace.

"Are you ever on time for _anything?_ " Hilaire demanded when he was seated and buckled in.

"Not recently," Lucian muttered, tapping his fingers against the wheel while he waited for his youngest brother to close the back door.

Instead of buckling his seatbelt, Diodore chose to sit on the edge of his seat, sticking his head between Lucian's and Hilaire's. Lucian gave him an exasperated look. "If we get in a wreck and you go flying through the windshield, don't expect me to rush to your rescue."

"I won't," he said dreamily. Lucian sometimes wondered how he managed to pass his classes when he always seemed to have his head in the clouds.

"How was work?" Hilaire asked as Lucian pulled out of the parking lot.

"Interesting. And weird," the doctor admitted. "I don't think I told you when you came over yesterday, but I met this guy at Etienne's store. His name is Nikolai Astya-something…"

"Nikolai Astyafyev?" Hilaire interrupted, raising a dark eyebrow.

Lucian peeled his eyes away from the road to give his brother a confused look. "You know him?"

"He's in my class."

Hilaire was a senior, set to graduate at the top of his class early next month. He'd already received his acceptance letter to Stanford, and nobody doubted that he was destined for great things.

"I think he must have skipped half the school year, but he's still in the top five," Hilaire was saying bemusedly.

"What else do you know about him?" Lucian pressed.

Hilaire gave him a strange look but answered anyway. "There's lots of rumors floating around," he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "People think he's involved with the mafia. Personally, I think he's just a drug addict and a loner. I mean, what would the mafia want with an eighteen-year-old kid?" his brother ended with a snort.

That was a good question, and Lucian wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

* * *

When Lucian opened the door to room 402 the next morning, he walked into pandemonium.

Nikolai was standing in the middle of the room—Lucian was dismayed to see that he was dressed as though he was prepared to leave—facing his brother Vitya. Clearly, they were in the middle of a heated shouting match. Dr. Parokiski was standing off to the side, looking wearier than he had the day before. Kari was at Nikolai's side, simultaneously attempting to break up the fight and pull him back into bed.

 _"_ _Ya tebya nenavizhu,"_ Nikolai was snarling as he wrenched his am out of Kari's grasp. " _Ya tak nenavizhu tebya."_

"Mr. Astyafyev-!" she protested, but he wasn't listening.

Vitya's lips twisted into a sneer as he replied, and his Russian was so rapid that Lucian couldn't distinguish the words from one another.

Nikolai made a hysterical noise, and Lucian wasn't sure if he was going to cry or laugh maniacally. _"Nu i shto?"_

"Don't say that," said Dr. Parokiski's quiet voice. He stepped out of the shadows, revealing the severe look on his face. His eyes were fixed on Nikolai. "You _know_ we care about you."

"Speak for yourself, Mish," Vitya snapped, crossing his arms.

Dr. Parokiski whirled around, and for a man of relatively small stature, his anger seemed to fill the room. "Shut up, Vitaly!"

"But—"

"This entire situation is basically _your_ fault, so the next words out of your mouth better be an apology to your brother, or so help me—"

"How is it my fault that he tried to kill himself again?!" Vitya cried.

Lucian decided that this had gone far enough. Nikolai's face was as white as the sheets of the unmade bed behind him, and even from several feet away, Lucian could see him trembling.

"I hate to interrupt," he began, and everyone in the room turned to face him. Even Kari looked surprised to see him standing there. "I'm surprised to see you out of bed, Mr. Astyafyev," he said in a brisk voice. "Are you planning on going somewhere?"

"As far away from you as possible," Nikolai said shortly. Lucian gave a mental sigh at the familiar hostility.

"You aren't in any shape to go anywhere," Kari insisted, attempting to push him towards the bed.

As thin as Nikolai was, he was still bigger than Kari, and he didn't budge an inch. "You can't keep me here," he snapped. "I'll sign whatever I have to, but one way or the other, I'm leaving."

 _"_ _Par piti_ _é_ _, tu peux m'aider?!"_ she shouted at Lucian impatiently.

"He's not going to help you do _anything_!" Nikolai said irritably, once again jerking away from her.

"I _knew_ he spoke French," Lucian muttered before saying to his sister in a louder voice, "You know he's right. We can't force him to stay here."

"Congratulations," Nikolai said dryly. "That's the first smart thing you've said since we met. And by the way, when did they start letting children become doctors? What are you, fifteen?"

"I'm twenty-four, for your information," Lucian shot back childishly, and was instantly ashamed that he had risen to the bait. From the look on Kari's face, she wasn't impressed with him either.

Lucian took a breath and turned on his heel to leave the room before he could make a bigger fool of himself. To his surprise, Dr. Parokiski and Vitya followed him.

"Where are you going?" Vitya demanded, rushing to keep up with Lucian's stride.

"To get his discharge papers," the doctor sighed. "It's always worse when the discharge is against medical advice. Then I have rounds to make…more patients to see…"

Dr. Parokiski gave him an understanding look, but Vitya was staring at him incredulously. "You're actually going to let him go?!"

"As I mentioned before," Lucian said, struggling to maintain his professional countenance, "we can't keep him here against his will. I can _advise_ him to stay, which I most certainly will, but that's it. He doesn't qualify for court-ordered treatment."

"How can he not qualify?" Vitya demanded. "He tried to kill himself!"

Lucian rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the curious looks they were drawing from people passing by. "For one reason, he came in as a presumed drug overdose, not as a suicide attempt. And even if he _had,_ he would still need to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, who would have to determine that he has a serious mental disease, is a serious risk to himself or others, has a history of not complying with treatment, and that he is unable to survive safely without supervision. If he _did_ meet those criteria, _then_ we could file a petition with the court and possibly receive a hearing, in which case the judge may or may not decide to order him into treatment. It's not something that happens overnight, I assure you."

The defeated look that clouded over Vitya's face made Lucian regret speaking so harshly. He opened his mouth to apologize but Dr. Parokiski beat him to it. _"Vsyo budet harasho,_ Vitya," he murmured soothingly _. "Pomogu tebe."_

To Lucian's surprise, Vitya let out a bark of laughter. "I can't believe you're actually speaking Russian!"

"Don't get used to it," the brunette muttered, but there was a small smile on his face.

"Well, if I'm not needed anymore, I'll just go get those papers," Lucian said, and turned to leave.

"Thank you for everything," he heard Vitya call after him. He shot the young man a smile over his shoulder before walking away.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


End file.
